(C) R.L.K.
There is something
about the rain tonight --
how it drops
into the funnels of the streetlamps,
how it sprays off the maples,
or burbles in the gutters,
and how it does all this
as if to welcome me
back to my hometown.
The rain makes it easy to remember
other nights, dreams dreamed
as only youth can dream them.
It all fits somehow,
the pale light, the shadowy trees,
the sounds of a summer night
like so many summer nights,
the old familiar things
reflected in a puddle of rain.
